


Short Circuit

by weardodo



Series: Take a Chance [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weardodo/pseuds/weardodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequal to "Filter"</p><p>Stiles tries to handle the fact that Peter kissed him and somehow ends up chasing a shape-shifter in the local gay-club Jungle... with the whole pack... and to make matters worse: Peter's there too and he looks hot.</p><p>This is so not his month...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1... hope to finish the rest ASAP ^^

 

 

 

Stiles looked at the blue and black plaid shirt that was laying there crumpled up in his hamper, the same shirt he wore at the last pack-meeting he attended.

 

It’s been two weeks since Peter came into his room and kissed him.

 

He hadn’t felt like washing the shirt yet. He’d almost flipped out when his dad had finally put it on the laundry-pile next to the washing-machine, and he could swear he could still smell Peter on it, even now when it probably smelled more like dirty laundry than anything else. He grabbed the shirt and felt utterly pathetic as he took another whiff, but somehow even the predominant smell of laundry couldn’t hide the smell of Peter still lingering on the sleeves where the old werewolf had grabbed him to pull him to his feet. Maybe it was just his imagination. Or maybe Stiles had just been hanging around werewolf-noses for a tad bit too long. Whatever it was, here he was sniffing dirty laundry like some sad pervert. When did he ever get this pathetic?

 

It’s been two whole weeks and Stiles still doesn’t know what to do.

 

Memories of that night have been as vivid as the actual event itself, making him feel part excited yet also part cautious as he looked at his desk-chair before making sure the locks on his window were in place.

 

He actually didn’t want to lock his window, but his mind and heart haven’t really been on _amical_ speaking terms since Stiles’ own betrayal, so he lies to his heart and locks the werewolf-door with fake verve, even theatrically dusting his hands afterwards with an even faker satisfied smile plastered on his face knowing damn well he’d be half awake all night again listening for sounds that might be off, listening for sounds that might indicate someone lurking in front of his window. He is so fucked.

 

Everything was just fine when he could just wallow in self-pity and mourn the decisions of his _oh so_ traitorous teenage heart without having to think about ever following up on his feelings. But now? Now he had undeniable proof that Peter Hale actually felt the same way, or at least finds him attractive in some _weird_ way. Right?  And kissing an under-aged boy in said boy’s bedroom before giving some innuendous remark and leaping out of the window as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do was definitely ‘weird’ in Stiles’ eyes.

 

And the worst part is that he can’t for the life of him remember what it was exactly that he said to Peter whilst unflatteringly drunk. Normally he would’ve had some sort of flashbacks in the days after a drunken night with friends or something, but this time: nada. It’s like when he wants to remember something from that night with Peter, all he can think of is the moment when he woke up at Peter’s couch and that night in his own room and the swooning feeling that had lingered for days afterwards.

 

Yet, something also told him that this was ‘Peter Hale’, a master manipulator, someone who takes pleasure in playing with people, someone who could have kissed him just to fuck with him.

 

Fuck with his ‘heart’ that is.

 

What if this was just part of some game to Peter, what if he just kissed him to show Stiles that he could if he wanted to, that he has the upper-hand from now on and this was just some sort of meaningless mind-fuck?

 

His brain wasn’t designed for this kind of crap.

 

So he did the only thing he could do in this particular situation…

 

 

+++

 

“Yo, Danny, can I ask you a question?”

 

Danny had been a constant feature since Beacon Hills had become lycanthrope central and, moreover, the guy had always been Beacon Hills High’s own gay mascot, being out and proud and a star lacrosse-player walking amongst the popular crowd. Being best friends with that ass Jackson probably also helped. Danny had never ever been afraid to tell it like it is, even with Jackson, and that was just one more feature that made the guy a favorable friend. If someone would be able to help Stiles out of his misery it would be Danny.

 

Danny looks at him like he’d just found something disgusting underneath his shoe and for the life of him can’t imagine where it’d come from.

 

“Um, no.”

 

Well.. that went extremely well.

 

“Okay…well,  I’m going to ask you anyway. Do you find me attractive?”

 

Danny rolling his eyes while sighing and just blatantly walking away should have been some sort of clue, but it’s not like Stiles to just give up and leave it at that. After all, _what does Danny really know anyway?_

He literally plummets down in the seat opposite Scott during lunch. His best bud was just munching on a huge piece of an oversized sandwich. Stiles knows exactly what kind of sandwich it is, seeing as they invented this masterpiece together when they were about thirteen years old. This was not food for a rooky, this was something that took skill to eat, and Scott had definitely mastered that particular skill. Not even Stiles could stop the mustard and ketchup  from flowing ineloquently as the tomato’s juices erupted. It took him a few seconds of watching in awe before he got a hold of his intentional thoughts again.

 

“Dude?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“If you were like, this dude that liked dudes – other than Isaac I mean –, would you… would you be able to like me as a dude, or would your dude-likingness not be interested in someone like me at all?”

 

Stiles knows that Scott isn’t particularly gay, but it’s also been common knowledge that he and Allison have been dabbling into the unknown qua relationship standards when it comes to the blonde cherub boy.

 

Scott just stares at him, holding  his sandwich with both hands and looking a little confused while trying to chew away another monster-bite. The ‘looking confused’ part should have been disconcerting, but seeing as that’s his friend’s standard disposition Stiles wasn’t that worried and just kept on looking at him expectantly.

 

“Dude!,” Scott says with his mouth still half-full before swallowing, “if I liked dudes besides Isaac in that way I would totally tap you, you know I would.”

 

See, and _that_ is why Scott is his best friend.

 

Scott suddenly looks at him a little bit _funny_ , with one brow raised and a few too many blinks. It’s his default epiphany-face.

 

It’s a look that definitely doesn’t bode well.

 

“Does this have anything to do with the gay-daddy porn I accidentally found on your laptop when we were working on that chem project last week?”

 

“Oh my god!” He moans in despair while cradling his head in his hands. Why are they best friends again?

 

“… because you know it’s okay, right? I mean, it was kinda freaky to see that all those guys looked eerily like Derek’s creepy uncle, but you know I will always love you, right, no matter what? Best Buds Forever?”

 

Goddamnit! How is it that Scott always knows how to look and act like a cute adorable puppy _and_ be all kinds of accepting while talking about shit Stiles is trying to be in utter denial about?

                                      

“Best Buds Forever,” he replies almost automatically while playfully punching his best friend’s shoulder.

 

It’s all he can say, because he truly means it. Scott is and will always be his _bestest_ best friend, and nothing, not even Scott turning into a werewolf or Stiles liking Peter Hale’s dick will ever change that. They both know it and they both accept it wholeheartedly.

 

See, and that is _truly_ why Scott is his best friend.

 

 

+++

 

 

He’d been able to avoid any pack-meeting for the last two weeks, but he knows the excuses won’t hold up for much longer. After all, one can only ‘have a migraine’ so many times in a row before people are going to start asking questions. And he _so_ doesn’t need a nightly face-to-face visit from shadowlurker- Mc- grumpypants right now, so when the next meeting is announced and Stiles’ presence is required, he knows he’s basically utterly fucked. He definitely doesn’t want to have to explain himself to Derek, nor any of the other pack-members for that matter, so he has to attend that meeting. And he knows that the chances of Peter being there are high, especially since that faithful night. Peter’s just not a guy that would pass up a chance to make someone feel uncomfortable.

 

Especially when that someone is Stiles.

 

+++

 

Peter’s not there, and even though his mind tells him to leave it, to not ask any questions that might raise an eyebrow or two – or in Derek’s case, two extremely huge, thick, judging monstrosities – , he just can’t help it, his curiosity is definitely getting the better of him.

 

“Um… not that I mind – ‘cause why would I mind something like that –, but don’t we need _all_ the help we can get, so why isn’t your dickhead uncle currently lurking in the shadows somewhere like a true member of the Hale family?”

 

He was trying to aim for ‘casual’. Alas, if the eerie silence and the discomforting stares were anything to go by, apparently he failed spectacularly.

 

Erica, Jackson and Lydia just squinted at him with a disconcertingly calculated look, while Allison, Isaac and Scott used up the moment of silence to give each other meaningful heart-eyes. Boyd just looked the same, but Stiles could definitely hear his brains working in overload. If any-one of them always knows what was going on in the pack, it’s Boyd. The guy let’s out nothing, no hint, no clue, but he and Erica are always seen exchanging money after some shit went down. Derek is looking at him like he just swallowed a bug, but luckily that’s his usual sunny disposition.

 

“Peter’s already at the club, trying to get a scent.”

 

And well, apparently, that is that.

 

_Wait…?_

 

“Wait? Club? What club? Oh my god, is this going to be one of those things that ends up in a public bloodbath and me getting grounded for two weeks!?”

 

The last time they had to catch something in a club, people got paralyzed and he’d spent two whole weeks trying to explain to his dad what had happened and why he was there when it happened. And that was _before_ his dad was in the know.

 

He was kind of reluctant to let his dad in on all the supernatural mumbo jumbo that was going on in this town, but he had to admit that they’d definitely made the right call to tell him. And it wasn’t like he had a real choice in the matter anyway, not when his dad got confronted with werewolves head on, as in _full-on transformations and claws and fangs_. Yeah, it was kind of difficult to create plausible excuses after that. But it definitely had its plus-side as things were so much easier now, well, at least the _explaining_ part, not the _things going awry and everything getting fucked up_ part. But still… he had always hated lying to his dad, and those days were now in the past. He never had to lie to his dad again about all the weird shit going on and about how he himself somehow always ended up in the middle of said weird shit.

 

Yup. No more lying there. Everything out in the open and A-okay.

 

Okay…. So he still didn’t always let his dad know _every single detail_ of the shit going on at the exact moment, but _hey_ , he always lets him know afterwards.

 

Okay, so that’s a lie… his dad always finds out afterwards and threatens to chain him to his desk at the police station and leave him there for the weekend if he doesn’t spit out every single last detail, but that is _so_ not the point. The point is, that he’s glad that his dad is his dad and that he’s so cool – well, as cool as can be considering the situation –  about everything that’s happened and is happening. He couldn’t wish for a better father and he knows it.

 

One thing though, if they’re going to a club, and Peter’s there, he’s definitely not going to tell his dad about it up front. He can already think up of a hundred different ways in which a confrontation between his dad and the older Hale could end up in disaster, and some of those scenario’s will probably already hunt his nightmares to come. He’ll gladly take his dad’s punishment afterwards.

 

.....


	2. Chapter 2

 

Okay, so this is definitely one of the worst nights he’s ever had, and that includes being beaten and threatened by crazy grandfathers _and_ being paralyzed by lizard people. He _so_ did not sign up for this.

 

Apparently ‘the club’ Derek mentioned was none other than ‘Jungle’, _the_ gay club of Beacon Hills county. But as if _that_ wasn’t bad enough, Peter was indeed already there, trying to _and_ _definitely achieving_ _in_ blending in.

 

This was highly unfair, even in Stiles’ eyes, this shouldn’t even have been possible. Peter was there alright. Peter was there wearing some tight fitting jeans and a body hugging V so low and so deep that even the letter ‘V’ must’ve felt threatened the moment the man had put it on. The jeans showed off the man’s perfectly formed round bubble-butt – _what? Like nobody had ever noticed the perfect roundness of the man’s ass?_ – and Peter’s V hugged his body so tight that Stiles could literally see every muscle and vain pulse and move as the man swayed around the dance-floor with an elegance and flair that seemed to mesmerize and threaten even the younger well-formed men. Peter definitely didn’t shave off the good stuff, displaying his chest-hair with an air of self-knowledge, knowing damn well how perfect _it_ and in term _he_ looked. The scene was downright obscene and mindboggling in Stiles’ eyes, and he knows that he’d been staring since the first moment he’d laid eyes on the man.

 

 

“Yo, asshat, what the hell are you staring at, you’re drooling for Christ’s sake, can’t you just for one minute not make us all look like mentally deficient by association, jeez, get a grip Stilinski! ”

 

Okay, so, he’s reluctant to admit it out loud, but Jackson might’ve just stated a reasonable request for once. _There’s a first time for everything_. He was looking and definitely feeling like an idiot right now and he needs to get a grip.

 

Allison and Lydia had taken up the dance-floor in the far right of the room, dancing around each other with intent. Boyd was standing in the far left corner, standing next to a high table holding both his and Erica’s drink. Erica was dancing sensually directly in Boyd’s line of sight while Scott and Isaac were dancing in close proximity at the far end of the dance-floor near the dj. Stiles couldn’t see Derek, but knowing him he was probably glaring somewhere in some corner while pretending to be a statue. A very hot yet angry looking statue. He watched how Jackson brought some drinks to Ally and Lydia and kept the girls company as they continued swaying away to the music while sipping their drink.

 

Somehow his last time being at Jungle doesn’t quite compare to this time. People, or rather ‘men’ are actually trying to come on to him this time, even the local drag-club had started to flaunt all over him again, buying him drinks and trying to get him to dance. And it’s not like he doesn’t feel like dancing or anything – he could feel his feet tap to the music while he silently hummed along –, it’s just that he really didn’t feel like going to the dance-floor right now, not with Peter taking up a big part of the floor.

 

To make matters worse, the older werewolf had started dancing with people, and not just with ‘people’, but he was actually currently dancing in close proximity with another man. An extremely hot older man.

 

The sight of Peter getting his groove on with one of the clubs hottest silver foxes is making Stiles’ brain short circuit and his stomach turn. He’s grateful for the next alcoholic mixture that’s put in front of him, courtesy of ‘miss’ Cherry Poppins.

 

“You look like you need a drink,” the older, yet graceful drag whispers into his ear before giving him a knowingly wink.

 

“You have no idea,” he can hear himself mindlessly reply while sipping the colorful mixture through a straw as if his life depended on reaching the bottom.

 

“Oh hun, don’t tell me, I recognize man-trouble when I see it.”

 

Miss Cherry sits down on the barstool next to him, crossing her legs carefully and taking a cautious sip of her own red and blue mixture before turning sideways towards Stiles.

 

She looks elegant though masculine, towering over Stiles both in height and the width of her shoulders. 

 

He knows her from the last time disaster struck at the club, and because Stiles does his research he knows she’s one of the oldest regulars, once having had her own show several years ago in which she mainly did a Cher and Madonna repertoire. Her partner died three years ago. Rumor says it was from AIDS, but Stiles knows it was just an unlucky twist of fate and he died of cancer just like his mom.

 

It’s probably the mixture of drinks he’d been downing in the last half hour, but he suddenly feels like pouring out his heart to the lady next to him, yet all he seems to get out is a soft whimpering sob and a pitiful mumble. “I hate him”.

 

“Oh honey, oh sweety, come here!” Miss Poppins opens up her arm invitingly while looking at him like she knows exactly what it is he’s feeling and Stiles doesn’t feel like fighting anything anymore, so he just let’s himself fall half sideways into her side while sobbing softly.

 

The older drag  gently caresses his shoulder and arm, making soothing sounds and softly speaking towards the back-wall of the bar while graciously picking up her drink with her other hand. She sighs knowingly before taking a few long sips of her beverage.

 

“Listen, sweety, the thing with men is, you should never ever let anyone of those dogs make you feel like you’re worthless or that you’re less than you are. You’ve got to stand your ground, keep your chin up and tell your man what you want and need, and if he can’t keep up or if he can’t give it to you, well… Then fuck him.” She emphasizes the last part in a way that tells Stiles that she must be speaking from some past experience.

 

She takes another nonchalant sip of her mixture before slowly lowering her glass to the bar again and tightening her grip on his shoulder briefly.

 

“You’re worth the best, and if you truly want that guy, just go for it! And if he declines, well, then he’s a prick and definitely not worth your heartache anyway.”

 

It sounded so simple, yet Cherry’s words hit ground and he could feel his sadness and sobs die away with each word. Because, ‘yes’, who the fuck does Peter think that he is, thinking he’s better than Stiles somehow, thinking that he can do shit like this, play with him like this, just for shits and giggles. No! This is going to end right now! Stiles Stilinski will not be played with, Stiles Stilinski is better than that!

 

“You’re absolutely right,” Stiles says while stumbling off the barstool with determination. Okay, so he had to hold the stool for a bit because _woah headrush_ , but he definitely felt determined.

 

Before he knows what’d happened Cherry is already wiping away the bright purple lipgloss she’d left behind on Stiles’ cheek before steering him around by the shoulders and giving him a little push towards the crowd occupying the dance floor.

 

“That’s it, sugar, you go and tell that man who’s boss!” were the last words he could hear her say before he got enveloped by a dancing mass, stumbled over his own feet, flailed embarrassingly unsubtle and accidentally bumped into Erica, or rather ‘faceplanted into her ever present bosom’.

 

[....]


	3. Chapter 3

 [...]

 

“ _Woah there_ , Stilinski, there are more subtle ways of pursuing a lady ya know,” she says with a self-satisfied smirk before her expression changes as she gives him a questioning once-over. “What’s wrong with you, you smell like someone just kicked your puppy and stole all your candy?”

 

Stiles knows that he should’ve retorted with one of his usual smart-ass comebacks, but his eyes had wandered behind Erica to the middle of the dance-floor where he could see how Peter was still dancing with Mr. hot-fox, and his throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. It’s only when his focus on Erica returns and he sees her sniffing the air before following his previous line of sight that he realizes that Erica’s able to smell his emotions. Apparently she puts two and two together because when she looks at him again, Stiles can literally hear her mind make a clicking sound.

 

“Oh. Oooooh…,” she says before a cunning smile reappears onto her heavily lip-glossed lips. “Come on Stilinski,” she orders while hooking her arm into his and starts pulling him towards the spot on the floor where Peter is still enjoying all the attention. “We’ll fix this”.

 

It’s a good thing Erica doesn’t drag him all the way to where Peter and hot-fox are dancing. And ‘yes’ sarcasm is way of life, at least in Stiles’ perspective. She literally forces him to dance with her next to the older men, but luckily Stiles is still feeling intoxicated enough to not give a shit. Okay, that’s a lie, he does give a shit, but Erica bouncing her breasts in front of him kind of makes things a little bit better. He can see Peter looking at them, quirking up an eyebrow, and he thinks ‘fuck it’, so he starts reciprocating Erica’s obscene dance-moves with moves of his own. He’s a good dancer, he knows he’s a good dancer, and if Peter wants it this way, well, than he can have it this way.

 

It’s only after Peter and his eyes meet for the third time and their gazes linger a bit too long that Erica suddenly sways Stiles in Peter’s direction while nonchalantly bumping the hot-fox out of the way before turning and walking away with a self-satisfied smirk.

 

“You’re both welcome,” she says with glee, loud enough for them both to hear even without super-hearing abilities, before disappearing into the crowd.

 

He knows he should feel embarrassed, but he’s too angry and buzzed and so he just keeps his eyes locked with the older werewolf while he keeps dancing. Peter doesn’t seem to give a damn that Stiles has taken the spot previously filled by the silver fox and Stiles can see how the corner of his mouth quirks up into a satisfied smirk. Stiles retaliates the older man’s smirk, still keeping his eyes locked on his prize.

 

Cherry and Erica are right, who the hell does Peter think he is, feeling better than him while he should be so lucky to get a piece of the Stiles.

 

“You’re an asshole, you know that,” he whispers barely audible, knowing Peter would be able to hear him just fine. “You can’t just play with people’s feelings like that.”

 

Peter just replies by smirking deviously while the dancing becomes more intense and they start to dance closer with each sound of the beat until he can feel Peter’s hands enclosing around his hips, pulling him so close that his mind short circuits again, in a positive way this time.

 

“Who says that I’m playing?” The older man whispers into his ear while pressing his own hips firmly against Stiles’.

 

“Oh my god,” is all he can say as he feels the werewolf’s warmth radiating through his clothes and the man’s thumbs softly caressing the skin of his hips underneath his shirt.

 

He’s pulled out of his trance by a hand that’s suddenly placed on his shoulder accompanied by a few girly giggles and a gruff voice that could only mean one thing. When he turns around he almost face-plants into Derek’s chest – jeez, has this guy never heard of the concept of ‘personal space’? The pack is standing right there in a half circle around him and Peter. Allison is hiding her mouth behind her hands, trying to restrain her giggles while Erica and Lydia just smirk. Boyd just stands there, but Stiles wants to bet that there will be some exchanging of money going on in the near future, probably with both Erica and Lydia. _Traitors_. He can hear Jackson and Isaac making gagging and straining  sounds before he can even see them, and Scott looks like he just accidentally knocked over his mother’s favorite vase. After letting his eyes wander around his pack-members, he finally faces Derek.

 

“Hey there big guy,” he half-laughs nervously while face-palming himself mentally. Luckily apparently there are more pressing matters at hand than Stiles dancing in close – very close – proximity with Derek’s uncle, who also happens to be twice his age, because Derek still carries his usual pained non-expression.

 

“We lost the shape-shifter, he’s not here, the scent is gone.”

 

Oh. Right. _Shape-shifter_. He admittedly had gotten so lost in dancing with the default-object of his affection, that he’d almost forgotten all about the reason why they were all there in the first place.

 

The next sound of Peter’s voice almost didn’t compute until the man’s words finally sank in.

 

“I’d say that I care about or am surprised by your pack’s incompetence, but I wouldn’t want to lie any more than needed. Why don’t you ask Miss Bubblegum over there what exactly happened to your culprit?” Peter just stands there with an air of serene confidence and tranquility, hands cradling each other behind his back as he cocks his head towards Erica and smiles arrogantly.

 

It really shouldn’t do things to him, but he can’t help the sudden burst of arousal flowing through his loins as he watches Peter being Peter: an arrogant asshole. A _very strong and muscle-y and hot_ arrogant asshole. And he knows that Peter doesn’t really mean it, seeing as he’s seen the man take joy in their new-found pack-events. Stiles knows for certain that the older werewolf sees them all as some sort of family.  Not that his old family could ever be replaced of course. And… _Fuck_ , he really is so utterly fucked.

 

Luckily Peter’s words had changed the pack’s direction of focus and they were now all looking questioningly at Erica who looks like someone just gave her an algebraic equation to solve. 

 

“Wait? What? You don’t mean…,” she stammers until her eyes blow wide with realization. “Seriously? The hot old dude you were rubbing dicks with was the shape-shifter?”

 

Well, that was certainly an unexpected turn of events.

 

[...]


End file.
